


Winner

by jackassai



Category: Borderlands
Genre: M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackassai/pseuds/jackassai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In these quiet moments, it could almost seem like they cared for each other. The truth is, it’s all about winning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winner

**Author's Note:**

> Again set in an AU of rival companies. They share a moment when the hatred has cooled and unspoken questions are asked. Just a short thing. Shrugs.

It’s not love, Rhys thinks in the evening when he and Jack are so thoroughly exhausted they can do nothing more than lay pressed together on the mattress, too worn to even separate from how they collapsed after their latest marathon. Idly, he watches as blood sluggishly drips down from Jack’s sweat soaked skin, creating patterns downward over his neck. An intense desire to lean over and lick the blood away coils like slow arousal in his gut. Rhys ignores it.

The feeling they share could never be something so banal as affection or care. Not with the way they ache to press close to each other and leave punishing marks of ownership against skin instead of ghosting kisses. Not with the way Jack spits out obscenities with he kneels over him, hands around his throat, slowly blocking off the air he needs to breathe.

The brutal way they clash against each other could never be mistaken for the touch of lovers.

Yet, in these calmer moments in the hectic relationship they share, it could be confused as such. With Rhys curled against Jack’s side, pushing wet kisses against his chest, the illusion is there. Hiding the evidence of their hatred with faux tenderness. Covered in bruising bites, blood, spit, and come, they are a picture of something else. Not love. Not hatred at the moment. Enemies and yet lovers.

Jack’s hand tangles in his hair and tugs hard, forcing his head up to meet his gaze. The look in his eyes mirrors Rhys’s own contemplation of their predicament. As usual, the want to ignore Jack’s unspoken question is tickling at the back of his mind, urging him to deflect the conversation before it starts.

Surprisingly, it’s not a pleasant idea like it always has been. He finds himself not wanting to rebuff the invitation to come closer, be something more.

That’s an interesting reaction. Rather, his lack of recoiling is interesting.

Nothing is spoken, but Jack watches him with uncharacteristic patience while he settles his inner turmoil. The hand in his hair is not punishing, but grounding him in the present. Not allowing him the chance to run away again. Whatever they have been, Jack is offering more.

Rhys surprises himself by pushing forward and pressing his lips – not biting, not cursing, nothing they normally would do – against Jack’s in a needy, accepting kiss.

It’s not love. It’s ownership and possession. It’s hatred and the desire to control the other.

Rhys can feel Jack’s lips curl against his own in a smile. The urge to bite down bubbles up, but overpowering that is the want to accept what Jack gives him. A hand ghosts over his spine and Rhys whines into Jack’s mouth.

And they know that Jack has won – at least for now.


End file.
